


heart beat me

by phile



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Drug Use, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Underage Smoking, basically eremin smoking weed for 3k words straight, burnt out gifted kid armin, eren not realizing he has a crush on armin for 3k words (not so) straight, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phile/pseuds/phile
Summary: friday night on the sofa was skittering touches, crumbling green, and too close to see one another through the smoke.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	heart beat me

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most pointless thing i think i've ever written, but idgaf at this point, i'm just craving da mary jane and eremin is self-projection. warnings include mild swearing, romanticized depictions of smoking, and eren jeager. 
> 
> song rec is [free drugs](https://open.spotify.com/track/1YrURynMOeAEEShKLi91cR?si=Ye2iED-wQ_-H9X_SyiRr4A) by ambré

_my lungs took hiatus, face first to the pavement_

_(that’s how i fall into you)_

it would be late in the afternoon, winding down, limbs loosened, when they’d find themselves staring at the crappy television set because armin’s grandfather refused to replace the house with anything from the twenty-first century, and it would be an old sitcom playing, even though neither of them liked sitcoms that much— _background noise,_ armin had probably insisted, because he wasn’t fond of dead silence—that armin would turn to him and ask him to smoke. 

“yeah,” eren said, who wasn’t even sure if he was hearing armin right and had also never smoked a blunt in his life, so when the hell did _armin arlert_ , of all people, do shit like this? to which eren concluded it was probably jean. jean was often the source of eren’s demise. 

“i don’t smoke that much, really,” armin said, gauging eren’s response, because eren had always been terrible at hiding his true thoughts. he was definitely lying through his teeth to make eren feel better about it. “just…” waved a hand, “i get stressed sometimes, y’know. school and…”

“everything else,” eren supplied.

“yeah,” armin cracked a smile, sheepish almost, “everything else.”

eren dug his back into the leather of the couch further as armin texted his plug. it was autumn, still, not cold but cold enough for them to stay inside and exhaust themselves with video games and the snacks they shoplifted from the corner store. they used to have a lot more fun than that, eren thought. when they were kids they used to play pretend in the backyard and rip branches off of trees and chase each other across the train tracks. then they got to high school, which eren had been naive about, at least to think they’d be tight like they were before. 

high school happened. armin got roped up in advanced courses and student government and marine biology club, which eren had no idea was a fucking thing, while eren nearly flunked half his classes first semester and played benchwarmer for the football team the entire season and only got to see armin during lunch periods, rarely if they ever had the same one and rarer if armin wasn’t finishing up his assignments in the library then. in short, they had become distant ever since freshman year, that even when they hung out it felt different, that they could talk and play as usual but still, a grout was forming beneath them, slowly but surely, and eren was reminded time and time again that they were beginning to live in two separate worlds.

eren was sure all the smart kids did adderall. but _weed_? armin just wasn’t that type of person. or at least not the person eren knew. 

“are you mad?” 

“no,” he lied. damn, armin was good. and then, “a little.”

armin sighed. “i’m sorry, i should’ve told you. but i was… afraid of what you’d think of me. sorry...”

“how was i supposed to think of you?” and eren watched armin’s face scrunch up. that was when a pang of guilt washed over him. he knew armin was always overly conscious of how eren thought of him. (which didn’t make any lick of sense to eren, who thought armin was just better at everything in general—a better student, friend, complex and individual human, for fuck’s sake, and if anything, it should’ve always been eren who looked up to armin’s approval, more than the other way around). 

eren leaned in, met armin’s eyes, wide and fraught: “look, i’m over it. i’m not mad that you do… whatever you do in your free time. you don’t have to be afraid of anything, man. i was just being a jerk about it ‘cus you didn’t tell me. we’re friends, remember?” 

armin swallowed. “okay. sorry, eren.”

“stop saying sorry.”

“sor—” armin laughed weakly. “okay, i’ll shut up.”

they were close now, closer than before—which had only been a popcorn bowl’s distance between them on the couch—, but now their knees were brushing, barely, and eren had always found it difficult not to stare at armin when they were like this. a lot of assholes in middle school used to give armin shit for looking like a girl, but eren had never seen armin that way, just in the way that armin was a little bit more beautiful than the rest of them. _beautiful_ was a strong word, but ‘handsome’ or ‘pretty’ didn’t do the trick. armin, who always seemed fleshed out in a more angelic light, nearly untouchable and unearthed, in a poor-ass town where hopeless boys only turned into drunkards or deadbeats. 

(plus, armin had cut his hair before school started, which made it harder not to stare somehow. it was august then, one of the hottest days of the year—one of the few days they had spent together that whole year, actually—and both he and eren had left the community pool that noon, towels slung over their shoulders and too lazy to put their t-shirts back on. when they walked along the broiling sidewalk, their flip-flops squished under them. 

“it’s hot,” armin had complained, “way too hot.”

eren had looked over, where armin’s hair coiled to where his neck met his shoulders. when wet, armin’s hair deepened into a honeyed color, browned under sunlight. 

“your hair’s getting long.”

“yeah?” armin ran a hand through it, frowning. “i guess i should cut it.”  
  


to which eren had assumed was an empty promise, because armin had kept the same haircut for as long as eren had known him, but then they had turned the corner to the barbershop. an hour later, eren tried not to choke on his slushie when armin had walked out the door in his new cut, wondering why the temperature suddenly climbed degrees.)

and armin, who was probably used to eren staring at him, because eren wasn’t necessarily subtle but somehow, at the same time, armin would be too dense to pick up, with his mind and mouth wandering somewhere else (somewhere too much scientific jargon for eren to comprehend). eren watched armin’s hands, frail and blistered, ascend and descend in fluid movements as he talked about his biology paper… that it was a documentary that inspired his research on neuroplasticity... and _the brain that is the truest piece of the body susceptible to change..._

“...and that’s why the perception of self is so critical to our actual physiology now,” armin finished, looking quite proud of his words that eren almost felt bad for not listening. next to him, his phone chimed. “oh, i think my guy’s outside. you can wait here, just lemme…”

the front door clicked shut and eren threw his hand over his face, sinking. fuck was he thinking, agreeing to smoke with armin when he’d never touch that stuff in his life. secretly, he wished armin’s grandpa would come through the front door and stop them guns blazing, but it was a silly thought—his grandpa wasn’t even in town for the week.

the television flicked off in front of him (damn, he would have to fix that later for armin’s grandpa), and eren’s tiny reflection in the black screen stared back at his face. he, too, had changed before he knew it: the football conditioning and extra gym training had paid off, now that he was on varsity, and it showed, too, where his shoulders became broad and his chest became hard, jaw sharpened and legs sprouting. he felt like a gorilla next to armin’s leaner build. 

the door swung open. “hey,” armin said, not stepping in, “i’m short. do you have a five?”

seriously? eren wanted to snark, but started fishing his pockets anyway. mikasa had given him some money that morning to buy food after school, which was still left. he walked over and handed it to armin. 

“here.”

“sorry, eren,” armin said, lingering his hand for a beat too long on eren’s palm, and slipped back out. 

the stash was an eighth, more than enough for the two of them, according to armin, like eren was supposed to know what the hell that meant. 

“maybe i should’ve gotten pre-rolls, to save us the trouble,” armin murmured as eren brought in the tray he requested. eren sat down beside him. “thank you.”

eren had seen armin in the lab at school before, in bulky goggles and gloves, diligently pouring questionable liquid chemicals from beaker to beaker, rarely ever missing by the milliliter, but armin working on a blunt was amateurish, almost that it was endearing. he didn’t have a grinder, so he broke the buds apart with delicate hands, and his fingernails could barely break the crease of the wrap, that he had to borrow eren’s pocket knife to remove the guts. eren could not help wrinkling his nose at the smell. 

“what about the rest?” he asked, blinking at the two-thirds of the stash they hadn’t touched. 

“we save it for later,” armin said. 

“oh,” eren said. he had not been aware that there would be a later, or a next time. 

he was probably being too apparent that this was his first, but armin didn’t seem too bothered by it. then again, armin had likely figured it out. it was no question that eren’s family was better off than most of their neighborhood; eren’s dad was a doctor, after all, and his mom was a teacher at the elementary school a few blocks down. eren and mikasa were raised enviously well, that it had never occurred to him that he _could_ do drugs, and so he never thought armin would either. or, more so, it never occurred that armin would hide it from him. 

he glanced at armin. it was coming dark outside, that the last of light hit the back of armin’s head like a halo. he was teething at his bottom lip, concentrating, as his fingers nimbly rolled the wrap over the weed. armin brought the blunt up to his lips, sliding his tongue against the leaf from left to right. the gliding pink of it made eren feel a little warm. 

“the lighter,” armin mumbled. eren gave it to him, eyes not leaving armin’s face. one, two, threefourfive flicks—he couldn’t strike it. he swore. 

“i’ll do it,” eren took the lighter from armin’s hand and struck it with ease. the flame flickered between their faces, that eren could see it dancing in the blue of armin’s gaze. 

“don’t burn it, now,” armin teased, watching his friend struggle with the lighter. eren did as armin instructed, and swiped the small flame across and back where the wrap ended, sealing the blunt. 

“now what?”

armin laughed, and lit the very end, where it began to smoke. “now, we get high. here, you take the first hit… just breathe it in… yep, just like that is fine, but it has to sit in your lungs, and then you let it out _slowly_ —”

eren began coughing up a storm. 

“fuck,” the fumes sputtered from his lips, and he gasped for air, “fucking hell.”

he hadn’t meant for it to blow in armin’s face, but armin caught the whiff of it, grimacing too as he patted eren’s back. “that’s good, you’re good, eren. it’s how the first time always goes.” giggling, “sorry, i probably should have demonstrated.”

then, he took the blunt from eren, who was still teary-eyed, and lifted it to his mouth. eren saw it now, the parting of his lips and his inhale, almost too eager. armin’s eyelids fluttered shut, and then he drew out a breath: a slow, satisfying sigh of smoke into the air that sent a shiver down to eren’s toes. a tainted angel.

armin opened his eyes, turning to eren. smiled, “just like that. see?”

eren swallowed and felt the blunt between his fingers once again. this time, it was better; he didn’t cough, didn’t wince, but the unfamiliar, rough feeling had settled uncomfortably at the back of his throat, like an itch. his expression wore thin: “and this is supposed to make me feel good?”

“hmm, if you wait and relax,” armin said, and stood from the couch. “damn, the tv shut off again? i keep on telling gramps to get a new one, seriously, or else he’ll keep on calling you to fix it…” then, circling towards the back, where the shelves sat behind them, “here, we’ve got tapes…”

“you’re just going to play fleetwood mac again.” eren looked over. armin cracked a grin, was always pleased when eren knew him well, “yeah, maybe.”

“how come your grandpa doesn’t have anything nineties?”

“he’s old,” armin dusted off the cassette player from behind the couch, “and tupac is not the right mood.” 

“tupac is always the right mood,” eren said, affronted. 

“ _now here you go again…”_ the speakers began to croon. armin always won. “then bring your own tapes next time.”

“you know that’s unfair,” eren whined. “c’mon, people don’t even own cds anymore. you guys are just outdated ‘nd shit.”

armin only laughed, and leaned over the couch; from behind eren’s back, armin swiped the blunt from his hand, and took another hit. blew it past eren’s shoulders, that the smoke grazed eren’s cheeks and he could feel the heat of armin’s breath, daunting and sweet. 

“... _you should play the way you feel it_ …”

“s’good stuff,” armin said, pleased. he held it in front of eren, who, on a bold stroke, brought his mouth to armin’s fingers, and took a drag from the cig. this time, longer. this time, feeling armin’s eyes on him, and this time, his lungs relaxing, body turning fluid with the pungent taste that entered him. eren tipped his head up against the backrest and let it out. 

a gray cloud simmered above them. armin tapped the ash on an empty monster can. “feeling better?” 

eren laughed, suddenly lighter, “yeah. much better.” 

after that was what felt like a whir of distorted vignettes, all filtered in smoke: their eyes smarting, and their voices drowned out; legs which tangled and roped across one another and arms draping from the ends of the cushions; deep sighs, incoherent jokes, sweltering in the strange heats and acridness that hung above them with each puff that left their mouths. 

eren, who armin told to slow down already, _no more for you_ , had found himself beneath the other boy, and that same armin was now tracing lines across eren’s chest, a little out of his mind, too. armin’s hair, not as golden in the dim living room light as it would under the sun, and dragging what was left of the blunt—which was not even the length of his thumb, now—against his lips once more. it’s not like eren was not used to them like this, pressed up against one another, interlocked, because they had been that way before he could remember. armin would have said that eren _would_ be able to remember, because they had met when they were six and one begins to form concrete memories after three, or some other eerily encyclopedic fact he could pull out of his ass.

but the point was, or maybe _that_ was the point—that they were close because they have always been, that armin’s hand was one of the first hands eren would hold, that by some miracle or curse they were still friends even with the way they touched one another, jean had sniggered once. that this should be familiar, usual, and it should be nothing to blink at—by their standards, anyway—, but somehow, eren’s chest rumbled with an odd feeling, odd enough he hoped armin wouldn't be able to catch it. 

“you know,” eren looked at the ceiling (a long jagged line from the ceiling fan, the very crack he and armin and mikasa had caused five years ago with a frisbee), “the smoke alarm hasn’t gone off yet.”

armin snorted. “gramps removed the batteries so he could smoke inside.” he gestured to all the stray marlboro boxes on the coffee table. 

“must be lucky for you then, too.”

armin shook his head. “nah, i don’t do this at home… my first time, actually.”

eren looked at him. armin’s reddish ears, flushed cheeks—a sign of candor. “really?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, putting the blunt out on their makeshift ashtray, “but i trust you, so i’d thought it’d be fine. i’d only be fine if it was with you, anyway.”

eren’s breath halted, and then, he so badly wished that all the smoke would vanish between them, so he could see armin’s face in clarity, in honesty. his hand slid down to armin’s, but their fingers missed by the skim. 

“me too. i trust you.”

armin was quiet, only for a moment, before sitting up and abrupting eren. with a performative shout, armin began to tickle him, “enough not to tell mikasa?”

eren wheezed, wriggling beneath armin, “what the fuck, man!”

laughing, armin swung his leg over eren’s waist, and they wrestled. a boyish, playful wrestle, skin on skin, red-eyed and dazed; their movements became unhinged, sloppy—too high to think, too proud to lose. in the end, eren’s arms wore out between armin’s sneaky jabs, and he was too tired to grapple with armin any longer. though, his legs had some kick left, and so he threw armin off the sofa with the last of his strength.

armin flailed to the ground. “fuck!”

but then they were laughing another fit, uncontrollable and maniac. armin was always louder than eren, but eren liked it that way, that he could hear the pure sound of armin’s laugh trilling above his own, that he could spend the entire night listening to it. 

“hey—!”

armin grabbed eren’s arm, and in one fell swoop, pulled him down to the floor, too, where they both lay, tearing up with glee. 

“mikasa would totally murder us right now if she saw us,” he panted, and armin burst out giggling. 

“our asses would’ve been beat before anyone else got the chance.” eren snickered, armin elbowed him. and then, “you better not tell her.”

“you really think i would?”

“you can’t lie, eren,” armin said. “not for the life of you.”

he was right. eren knew he was, too, and though it should have bothered him it didn’t the slightest. maybe it was the weed doing that. they lazed there, on the floor of the couch, unsure how to move out but more so, sure they both did not want to move an inch at all. the wall clock across them struck ten. 

“it’s late,” eren mumbled, sitting up. “shit. i should go back.”

“you _can’t_ ,” armin groaned, throwing his head back. “just tell them you’re staying the night, it won’t do any good walking back unless you wanna get mobbed.”

eren’s brows knit, considering.

“plus, you reek of weed.” armin poked at eren’s shirt. “you can’t go back like this. your dad will definitely know. he’s a doctor, for god’s sake.”

“okay, okay,” eren said, shooting the family groupchat a text. “jeez, you coulda just said you missed me being here.”

he couldn’t see it, but eren could feel armin smiling against his shirt. 

after a shabby clean-up in the living room and five packs of instant ramen (“i didn’t know you’d get _this_ hungry,” armin had said with wide eyes as eren scarfed down mounts of noodles), they were getting ready for bed. eren’s clothes were in the wash; armin let eren borrow his shirt—black, plain—but armin was a size or two smaller than eren, so it was a little tight on him, where there was no breathing room for his shoulders, and whereas soon as he lifted his elbows the shirt would ride up, too. 

“does it fit?” 

eren looked at the bathroom mirror and back. armin’s lamp was the only thing on; he could barely make armin’s shape under his blanket. “yeah, it’s fine.”

armin peeked from above the covers. “when did you get this jacked, seriously?”

“jealous?” eren closed the bathroom door behind him, making his way over. 

“of what? a beast?” armin flipped over, stuttering, “if you don’t fit in my bed anymore, that’s on you.”

the bed creaked beneath eren’s dipping weight. when was the last time they slept over like this? sophomore, no—freshman year? but to think they were here now, in the yellow light cast, once again sharing the same red blanket since they were kids. the bed that used to feel so big was barely enough for the two of them now, that armin had to press his back against the wall and eren had to hover dangerously close above him to shut the bedside lamp off.

the night closed over them, and they were veiled in darkness. they couldn’t see each other, but armin glimpsed the shadow of eren’s body, hesitant as he laid down. 

“you good?”

“yeah,” eren said. pausing, shuffling. “you’re right. i am too big.”

armin tugged on eren’s sleeve, bringing him in closer. the bed creaked once again, and the blanket shifted from their bodies that eren had to drape it over them once more. they couldn’t see one another, but still, their breaths were there, slow and warm, and so were their heartbeats, drumming faintly away. armin felt for eren’s hand, grasped it. his hand was soft. 

“you’re fine. stay here.”

they fell silent. eren felt the ends of armin’s hair tickling his chin, the savor of his shampoo swiping at his nose. his face, staring at the nape of armin’s neck in the deep blue-black, and armin’s scent, beneath the smoke and sweat, was something blessed, like the glimmer of sunlight that graced the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk about anything eremin with me [here](https://twitter.com/OMlKUN)
> 
> no one needed to know this but armin is a biggie smalls fan and yes eremin do engage in 90s hiphop discourse they r losers


End file.
